


echoes of red

by AnonymousSinner



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Begging, Bondage, Fluff and Smut, Historical Inaccuracy, Kinda, Light Bondage, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Orgasm Delay/Denial, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Roleplay, Sexual Roleplay, for a short time, gagging is involved, look its very gay, they pretend to be revolutionaries in bed sometimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-14 13:30:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11209059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonymousSinner/pseuds/AnonymousSinner
Summary: “I know begging is not your strong-suit,” Enjolras says lightly, “but I am certain we will come to an agreement, you and I.” With that, he wraps his lips around Grantaire’s cock.Or, the one where Grantaire gets tied up with Enjolras' coat and has to beg him to come.





	echoes of red

**Author's Note:**

> do i even fucking have an explanation for this, no i don't
> 
> i was taking a break from another work and the enjoltaire feels have been strong recently so *throws fic at you*
> 
> it took me forever to find a title because this was called "why am i like this" on my computer

The thing about Grantaire is that despite not having any convictions, despite having no beliefs to speak up for, he still has a mouth on him. It’s a beautiful mouth, mind, Enjolras would never dream of denying that, but there’s just something about the way those pink lips will curve up into this satisfied smirk every time he has something to say that makes Enjolras’ blood _boil_. He’ll feel it in the way his fists clench, feel it as his jaw sets and heat rushes to his face – frustration bubbling over, all because of that fucking mouth and the words Grantaire says, smug and sarcastic and _infuriating_.

“Tell me, R. What comments do you have for me now?” Enjolras says, voice low and honey-sweet in Grantaire’s ear. Dark eyes meet his as Enjolras leans over him, and they’re ever bright and unflinching, even as Enjolras lowers his cravat around Grantaire’s head.

“Only that this is a far, far better use for this beloved accessory of yours, Apollo,” Grantaire says, and there’s humour in his tone even now, with his hands tied up to the headboard of Enjolras’ bed. Nimble artist fingers pull absent-mindedly at the makeshift binds, not so much trying to loosen them as simply feeling the rich, red fabric of Enjolras’ coat.

“I’ll admit,” replies Enjolras as he pushes the tie into Grantaire’s mouth, “I enjoy seeing you in my clothes.”

This earns him a muffled laugh, and the man shifts ever so slightly towards Enjolras, seeking the warmth of his touch.

“Oh no, Grantaire. You do not deserve to ask for anything.” Enjolras moves away swiftly, fingers brushing the man’s cheek as he stands, and Grantaire just grins around the gag, mischievous and entirely too confident for Enjolras’ liking.

“You’ll take what I give, nothing more,” Enjolras tells him softly, trailing the tips of his fingers ever so gently up Grantaire’s calf. Grantaire stays still this time, and the grin has faded – he’s focusing on Enjolras now, listening and watching his every move. He holds his breath as Enjolras leans over him again, looking for a moment so breathtakingly young that Enjolras has to press a kiss to his forehead, lips brushing against dark, dark waves of hair.

“I am going to absolutely wreck you,” Enjolras whispers, and the soft, muffled moan Grantaire lets out sends a shiver down his spine. He closes his eyes briefly, listening to Grantaire’s soft breaths, and straightens up.

“You always have so much to say, R,” he says, his voice sounding much more composed than he feels as Grantaire looks up at him with dark eyes gone even darker, “I wonder how long it would take until you can’t say anything, even without a gag in that pretty mouth.”

Grantaire shudders slightly, and Enjolras knows he loves the idea, knows he loves a challenge as much as Enjolras does himself. So he indulges him.

“Here is what I am going to do, R,” he says softly, sitting down on the edge of the bed as he trails teasing fingers down Grantaire’s thigh, “First, I will take you apart using only my tongue.” Enjolras smiles as Grantaire’s eyelids flutter, and he gently pushes at his left knee, moving to kneel in between Grantaire’s legs when he dutifully spreads them for him.

“Good,” he praises, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the centre of Grantaire’s chest, “After that, R, I’ll spread you open on my fingers.”

Grantaire lets out a quiet moan at that, back arching slightly as Enjolras kisses his way down the man’s body, nipping at the soft, taut skin just above his belly button.

“I will go slowly,” Enjolras murmurs, “until you can no longer bear it.” He kisses Grantaire’s hip, his hands coming up to push him back down when Grantaire bucks towards him.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he admonishes, “I am not finished talking.” He smiles when Grantaire huffs out an impatient breath, and lowers his head until his lips are almost brushing the head of Grantaire’s cock.

“We shall see how many fingers it takes until you are ready to beg me to fuck you,” he says, and delights in the cut-off noise Grantaire makes – an indignant growl, low in his throat.

“I know begging is not your strong-suit,” Enjolras says lightly, “but I am certain we will come to an agreement, you and I.” With that, he wraps his lips around Grantaire’s cock.

He takes it agonisingly slow, his grip firm on Grantaire’s hips as he presses his tongue against the head of Grantaire’s cock – a light, teasing pressure that has Grantaire’s breathing quicken up. Enjolras smirks, taking more of him inside his mouth, enjoying the feel and weight of him on his tongue. When Grantaire lets out a low moan, Enjolras pulls off, nonchalantly licking his lips as he throws a practised, bored look at Grantaire.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asks, taking in the flushed cheeks and those red, red lips as Grantaire lets out a quiet laugh, heading falling back onto the mattress.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Enjolras says, and then he’s pushing a pillow under the small of Grantaire’s back, hands gripping strong thighs and lifting them over his shoulders. Grantaire makes an almost wounded noise, and Enjolras grins, because he _knows_ how sensitive Grantaire is, knows how _easy_ it is to rile him up with this. He’s being almost cruel, and he knows it.

“No squirming,” is all Enjolras says, and licks a warm, wet stripe across Grantaire’s rim. Grantaire shudders, his heels digging into Enjolras’ back, but he stays quiet. Enjolras smiles softly against his skin, then licks at him again – small, teasing circles that make Grantaire suck in a breath.

“You’re trying to stay quiet,” Enjolras murmurs, and his voice is low but he knows Grantaire can hear him, knows he can _feel_ him, “It’s your way of fighting back.” He lifts his head for a moment, meeting eyes blown wide with his own, and grins.

“If you’re resisting, it means you have accepted the possibility that I’ll break you,” Enjolras tells him, and the fire in those dark eyes just fuels his own determination, “I’ve already won, R.”

He doesn’t speak anymore after that. He brushes his curls out of his face, ducks his head, and revels in the way Grantaire’s chest heaves and his heels dig painfully at his skin. He can’t see, but he enjoys the mental image of those strong yet delicate artist fingers clenching around Enjolras’ coat, those lips gasping around Enjolras’ cravat, that dark hair sticking to Grantaire’s forehead. It’s the one regret he has, is that he can’t see what this does to him, what his face looks like when Enjolras’ tongue pushes inside him, when his nails dig into his ass, spreading him open. He imagines Grantaire looks like the fallen angel he is - breathtakingly beautiful, made to be both Enjolras’ saviour and his downfall.

Eventually, those panting breaths turn into quiet, gasping moans, and Enjolras pulls back slightly, laughing against Grantaire’s skin.

“Come on now,” he says, “Come on my tongue.” And Grantaire does.

He shudders beautifully, a muffled cry that sounds suspiciously like Enjolras’ name forced out around his gag as he arches his back, streaks of come painting the skin of his stomach.

“Good boy,” Enjolras breathes, and he crawls up Grantaire’s body, pushing him back down onto the mattress even as the man trembles from the aftershock, and carefully unties the cravat, letting it drop to the floor as he claims Grantaire’s mouth in a harsh, biting kiss. Grantaire kisses him back just as fervently, teeth nipping at Enjolras’ lower lip as he moans into his mouth.

“You are cruel, Apollo,” Grantaire breathes, and Enjolras laughs again, pressing a kiss to the hollow of the artist’s throat.

“I am not done with you yet, R,” he says, bringing two fingers to Grantaire’s mouth, gently brushing against his lips.

“Is that so?” says Grantaire, tongue flicking out to lick at Enjolras’ fingertips, “What more do you require of me, beloved leader of our rebellion?” It’s teasing, smug, and Enjolras exhales through his nose, giving Grantaire a stiff smile so bereft of any warmth that the man almost shivers.

“I would have you silent,” he says harshly, and pushes his fingers into Grantaire’s mouth, “Now put your tongue to better use.”

Grantaire grins around his fingers, but does as he’s told, sucking and licking until Enjolras’ fingers are dripping wet and ready. A string of saliva connects them to Grantaire’s lips when Enjolras pulls them away, and he’s so beautiful that Enjolras almost takes pity on him. Almost.

“Tell me, Grantaire,” Enjolras says casually, and Grantaire’s amused look falters when Enjolras circles his rim with his forefinger, “How many times will I need to bring you to the edge before you beg me to push you over it?”

“Your determination is amusing,” Grantaire says even as he shifts closer to Enjolras’ touch, “but we both know that I have not begged for a thing in all my life.”

“I know. That is why I ask what you think it will take, to have you begging for me.” Enjolras slowly slips a finger inside of him, watching Grantaire’s face as his eyelids flutter and his mouth parts slightly. Then Grantaire smiles, and looks Enjolras straight in the eye.

“Do your worst, Enj,” he quips.

Enjolras takes a breath, then slowly pushes his finger inside of Grantaire, curling it upwards when he’s deep enough. Grantaire moans softly, thighs spreading further apart to give Enjolras better access.

“Think you can take two for me already?” Enjolras murmurs, and he doesn’t wait for an answer before he adds a second finger, slowly spreading Grantaire open. Grantaire’s cock is slowly starting to harden again, and the artist makes a quiet, pleased sound as he tips his head back, fingers twisting in the red material of Enjolras’ coat.

“Grant me the favour of not ripping my coat, please,” Enjolras says airily as he scissors his fingers, pushing back against the tightness.

“I make no such promise,” Grantaire gasps, and then curses when Enjolras curls his fingers again, pressing against the bundle of nerves inside of him.

“You look so pretty,” Enjolras says, sliding his fingers out and pushing them back in again when Grantaire moans, “so pretty for me.”

“Fuck, Enj,” Grantaire breathes, and Enjolras’ name sounds like a prayer on the man’s tongue. The blonde leans over him, bringing their lips together and licking hotly into his mouth as he adds a third finger. Grantaire’s teeth dig into Enjolras’ bottom lip, and his cock is fully heard now – Enjolras can feel it, can feel the precome sticky on his own skin where they’re pressed together.

“What do you want, R?” Enjolras whispers, spreading his fingers as wide as they will go.

“Faster,” Grantaire gasps, and Enjolras obliges, sliding his fingers in and out of Grantaire faster, deeper, curling and pressing where he knows Grantaire needs it. He’s ruthless in his ministrations, doesn’t let up as Grantaire’s moans turn into whines, leaning down to pull one of Grantaire’s nipples into his mouth. Grantaire keens loudly, and he’s moving into Enjolras’ thrusts now, breath catching in his throat.

“Are you close?” Enjolras asks mockingly, because he knows Grantaire is, can see it in the way he bites his lip, can see it in the redness of his cheeks, can hear it in the way he moans.

“Yes, yeah, fuck,” Grantaire gasps, and Enjolras watches as he closes his eyes, arches his back, and-

Enjolras grips the base of Grantaire’s cock with his free hand, pulling his fingers out of him.

“Asshole,” Grantaire spits, shuddering as he collapses back down on the bed.

“Save your breath,” Enjolras says, smiling wickedly as he kisses Grantaire, and the other man moans dejectedly against his lips. They kiss languidly for a while, Enjolras waiting for Grantaire’s breathing to slow down as his hands caress the artist’s body; soft teasing touches that have Grantaire leaning into him, sucking on his tongue.

“Beg for me,” Enjolras breathes, his fingers curling around Grantaire’s cock again, and the man moans even as he shakes his head.

“No can do, Apollo,” he manages, hips stuttering, wanting more.

“More’s the pity,” Enjolras says, beginning to stroke him, and he knows his grip is far too soft to give Grantaire the friction he needs, “I’m going to have to leave you hanging, it seems.”

“C’mon, fuck,” Grantaire manages in between panting breaths, and Enjolras bites back a laugh.

“Such profanity,” he teases, rubbing his thumb over the head of Grantaire’s cock, revelling in the way Grantaire trembles, a frustrated moan leaving his lips.

“My sentiments are returned, I’m sure,” Grantaire says dryly, bucking his hips, “I’ve heard you use many a curse, during all our heated debates.”

“Indeed,” Enjolras says, twisting his wrist and making Grantaire cry out, “You are frustrating.”

“ _I’m_ frustrating!” Grantaire laughs, the sound turning into another moan as Enjolras tightens his grip slightly, quickening his pace.

“Yes,” Enjolras says, “But I may be inclined to forgive you for your arrogance.” He gently presses his thumb against Grantaire’s slit, smiling softly at the groan that elicits.

“I believe you’ve made your point,” Grantaire says, and his fingers are holding onto Enjolras’ coat so tightly that his knuckles have turned white.

“Have I?” Enjolras slows his pace again, thumb brushing away beads of precome, “Strange, I haven’t hear you beg yet.”

“God, fuck, _faster_ ,” Grantaire moans, lips swollen and red from kissing and biting, and Enjolras obliges.

“Like this?” he asks, and Grantaire whines, back arching, “Is this what you want, Grantaire? Do you want to come like this?”

“ _Yes_ , yes yes yes,” Grantaire pants, eyes fluttering shut, and he’s already trembling. High-pitched moans begin to leave his mouth, and Enjolras moves up to kiss him, swallowing the sounds. He kisses Grantaire’s cheek and moves his lips to the man’s ear, nibbling softly at the sensitive skin.

“If you want to come,” he whispers, “ _Beg_.”

Grantaire’s eyes snap open in panic, and the frustrated cry he lets out does nothing to stop Enjolras from pulling away, fingers gripping the base of the man’s cock once more.

“ _No_ , no, come _on_ ,” Grantaire whines, sweat sticking dark curls to his forehead. Enjolras presses a gently kiss to his thigh, and even that makes Grantaire moan.

“So sensitive,” Enjolras murmurs, “You want to come for me, baby?” Their façade is slipping somewhat, and Grantaire struggles to catch his breath as he looks up at Enjolras, eyes beginning to shine with unshed tears.

“Let me come, Enjolras,” he manages, and Enjolras smiles softly, running his fingers through the mess of curls on the man’s head.

“You can come anytime, R,” he tells him, “You just have to beg for it.”

Grantaire closes his eyes, and Enjolras can see him struggling, can see him fighting with everything he has left. But, like always, Grantaire cannot refuse him. Dark eyes open, and the smugness has gone out of them – all that is left is desperation and trust, such unwavering trust in Enjolras that it makes his breath catch in his throat.

“ _Please_ ,” Grantaire begs, “Please, _please_ let me come, Enjolras _please_.”

“Good boy,” Enjolras says, and slides two fingers back into him. Grantaire keens loudly, hands pulling at Enjolras’ coat as he clumsily tries to move his hips back towards Enjolras’ fingers. Enjolras can’t help the soft moan that escapes him as he slides in a third finger, kissing and nipping his way up Grantaire’s body.

“So fucking gorgeous like this,” he murmurs into Grantaire’s sweat-slicked skin, and kisses the side of his neck as he fucks his fingers into him, “all mine, all for me.”

“Yeah, fuck, please,” Grantaire gasps, “Yours, just-”

“Beg me again, baby. Beg me again and I’ll give you what you need,” Enjolras says, lips leaving bruise after bruise on Grantaire’s throat.

“Please,” Grantaire sobs, and there are tears rolling down his cheeks, “Please, Enjolras, I need – fuck!”

“Good, so good,” Enjolras breathes, catching the tears with his tongue, “I’ve got you R, come for me.”

Grantaire comes with a shout, clenching around Enjolras’ fingers as he throws his head back. His body arches off the bed as he makes a mess of his stomach and chest, adding to the come that was already drying on his skin. He’s absolutely beautiful, and Enjolras has to kiss him, has to swallow his gasping moans and soft cries. Grantaire is trembling, shuddering underneath him, but when Enjolras removes his fingers and tries to pull away, he wraps his legs around Enjolras’ waist, keeping him there.

“Please, Enj, you said,” he gasps, “please fuck me, you said you would, please I’ve been good!” Tears are still streaming down Grantaire’s face, and he looks desperate and wrecked and _his_ , every single bit of him his, and Enjolras couldn’t deny him even if he wanted to.

“Ssh baby, I’ve got you,” he says soothingly, hands making quick work of Grantaire’s makeshift binds, “You’ve been so good, I’ll fuck you like you need, it’s okay.”

“Please, please, please,” Grantaire stutters, free hands scrabbling for purchase on Enjolras’ back, scratching down and tugging at the jeans Enjolras is _still_ wearing, why is he still wearing clothes?

“I’ve got you,” Enjolras manages, and he’s too far gone to keep up the game as he tugs at his clothes, pulling jeans and underwear off and kicking them somewhere, anywhere, who fucking gives a shit. He wastes no time in lining himself up, so glad that they’ve had the talk and he doesn’t need to find a condom, and leans over Grantaire, catching his wrists and pinning them either side of his head.

“Please, come on, m’ready,” Grantaire whines, head tilting up, begging for a kiss. Enjolras brings their lips together as he pushes forward, and then everything is _hot_ and _tight_ and _Grantaire_ , and he knows he won’t last long.

He doesn’t take it slow, doesn’t need to, just bites at Grantaire’s mouth as he fucks into him, relishing in the cut-off moans and gasps the artist makes. Grantaire scratches at his wrists, and Enjolras releases them only to intertwine their fingers, pinning him to the bed and mouthing hotly at his neck, moaning into his skin as Grantaire clenches around him.

“Fuck, R, you’re so good for me,” Enjolras manages, and then he loses track of things a bit, keeps babbling mindless praise and kissing every inch of skin he can reach, lost in the feel of the man beneath him. Grantaire is equally gone, unable to speak, unable to do anything but lie there and take it all. He’s so beautiful it hurts to look at him, but Enjolras does anyway, keeps his eyes trained on Grantaire’s face, watching the way his eyes squeeze shut as he comes, shuddering violently and gasping, with Enjolras’ name on his lips. The sight alone pushes Enjolras over the edge, and he buries his face into Grantaire’s shoulder, groaning as his orgasm hits him like a tidal wave.

“Jesus fuck,” he gasps, and it takes the last of his strength to gently pull out and collapse at Grantaire’s side, trying to catch his breath. Grantaire whimpers softly, and Enjolras reaches out, pulling him closer, kissing his hair.

“You were so good,” he praises, wiping the tears from his cheeks, “so beautiful, so perfect for me Grantaire. I love you so much.”

“You too,” Grantaire manages, voice hoarse, and rests his head on Enjolras’ chest, curling into him. They lie there for a while, Enjolras drawing mindless patterns on Grantaire’s back with his fingers, waiting for their heartbeats to slow. Then, much later, when Enjolras thinks he’s fallen asleep, Grantaire speaks up.

“You need to wear that vintage coat more often,” he says, and Enjolras laughs, pressing his lips to the top of his head.

“It’s probably ruined now,” he says, “Christ, a priceless replica of a coat from the eighteen hundreds, used for bondage and historic roleplay.”

“Inaccurate roleplay at that,” Grantaire mumbles sleepily, “Historians hate us.”  Enjolras laughs again, quietly.

“I’m sure the original owner of whatever coat this one was copied from would be horrified,” he murmurs, “I kind of feel bad.”

“Nah,” says Grantaire, and his voice is slurred, sleepy, “He probably used it the same way, I think. You don’t wear an obnoxiously red coat like that if not to assert dominance. Probably fancied himself to be quite the hero.”

“Probably,” Enjolras says, grinning, “I wonder if he had an arrogant little shit of a boyfriend to keep him grounded, like I do.”

“Obviously,” Grantaire whispers into his skin, and he’s falling asleep now, his breathing slowing down, “Can’t have one without the other.”

“Obviously.” Enjolras is back to drawing on Grantaire’s skin, tracing out the letters ‘E’ and ‘R’ and circling around the moles and freckles on his back. “Do you think they stayed together?”

“I think so. I think they died together. Tragic young love bullshit.”

“Wanna die together too? I’ve always been a hopeless romantic.” Enjolras smiles, his free hand coming up to play with Grantaire’s hair. For a while he gets no reply, and his eyelids droop, heavy with exhaustion. Grantaire answers just before Enjolras falls asleep, soft lips brushing across his skin as they form the words.

“If you permit it.”

It sounds like a memory, but Enjolras is too tired to find it. He pulls Grantaire closer, noses at his hair, and sleeps.

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos are very much appreciated <333333


End file.
